Cleaver first named a rather moderate limit, but Spotswoode at once suggested much larger stakes. Then Vance went still higher, and as both Markham and Allen signified their agreement, his figure was accepted. The prices placed on the chips somewhat took my breath away, and even Mannix whistled softly.
That all five men at the table were excellent players became obvious before the game had progressed ten minutes. For the first time that night Vance’s friend Allen seemed to have found his milieu and to be wholly at ease.
Allen won the first two hands, and Vance the third and fourth. Spotswoode then had a short run of good luck, and a little later Markham took a large jackpot which put him slightly in the lead. Cleaver was the only loser thus far; but in another half-hour he had succeeded in recovering a large portion of his losses. After that Vance forged steadily ahead, only to relinquish his winning streak to Allen. Then for a while the fortunes of the game were rather evenly distributed. But later on both Cleaver and Spotswoode began to lose heavily. By half past twelve a grim atmosphere had settled over the party; for so high were the stakes, and so rapidly did the betting pyramid, that even for men of means—such as all these players undoubtedly were—the amounts which continually changed hands represented very considerable items.
Just before one o’clock, when the fever of the game had reached a high point, I saw Vance glance quickly at Allen and pass his handkerchief across his forehead. To a stranger the gesture would have appeared perfectly natural; but, so familiar was I with Vance’s mannerisms, I immediately recognized its artificiality. And simultaneously I noticed that it was Allen who was shuffling the cards preparatory to dealing. Some smoke from his cigar evidently went into his eye at this moment, for he blinked, and one of the cards fell to the floor. Quickly retrieving it, he reshuffled the deck and placed it before Vance to cut.
The hand was a jackpot, and there was a small fortune in chips already on the table. Cleaver, Markham, and Spotswoode passed. The decision thus reached Vance, and he opened for an unusually large amount. Allen at once laid down his hand, but Cleaver stayed. Then Markham and Spotswoode both dropped out, leaving the entire play between Vance and Cleaver. Cleaver drew one card, and Vance, who had opened, drew two. Vance made a nominal wager, and Cleaver raised it substantially. Vance in turn raised Cleaver, but only for a small amount; and Cleaver again raised Vance—this time for an even larger sum than before. Vance hesitated, and called him. Cleaver exposed his hand triumphantly.
“Straight flush—jack high,” he announced. “Can you beat that?”
“Not on a two-card draw,” said Vance ruefully. He put his cards down to show his openers. He had four kings.
About half an hour later Vance again took out his handkerchief and passed it across his forehead. As before, I noted that it was Allen’s deal, and also that the hand was a jackpot which had been twice sweetened. Allen paused to take a drink of his highball and to light his cigar. Then, after Vance had cut the cards, he dealt them.
Cleaver, Markham, and Spotswoode passed, and again Vance opened, for the full amount of the pot. No one stayed except Spotswoode; and this time it was a struggle solely between him and Vance. Spotswoode asked for one card; and Vance stood pat. Then there followed a moment of almost breathless silence. The atmosphere seemed to me to be electrically charged, and I think the others sensed it too, for they were watching the play with a curiously strained intentness. Vance and Spotswoode, however, appeared frozen in attitudes of superlative calm. I watched them closely, but neither revealed the slightest indication of any emotion.
It was Vance’s first bet. Without speaking he moved a stack of yellow chips to the centre of the table—it was by far the largest wager that had been made during the game. But immediately Spotswoode measured another stack alongside of it. Then he coolly and deftly counted the remainder of his chips, and pushed them all forward with the palm of his hand, saying quietly:
“The limit.”
Vance shrugged almost imperceptibly.
“The pot, sir, is yours.” He smiled pleasantly at Spotswoode, and put down his hand face up, to establish his openers. He had held four aces!
“Gad! That’s poker!” exclaimed Allen, chuckling.
“Poker?” echoed Markham. “To lay down four aces with all that money at stake?”
Cleaver also grunted his astonishment, and Mannix pursed his lips disgustedly.
“I don’t mean any offense, y’ understand, Mr. Vance,” he said. “But looking at that play from a strictly business standpoint, I’d say you quit too soon.”
Spotswoode glanced up.
“You gentlemen wrong Mr. Vance,” he said. “He played his hand perfectly. His withdrawal, even with four aces, was scientifically correct.”
“Sure it was,” agreed Allen. “Oh, boy! What a battle that was!”
Spotswoode nodded and, turning to Vance, said:
“Since the exact situation is never likely to occur again, the least I can do, by way of showing my appreciation of your remarkable perception, is to gratify your curiosity.—I held nothing.”
Spotswoode put down his hand and extended his fingers gracefully toward the upturned cards. There were revealed a five, six, seven, and eight of clubs, and a knave of hearts.
“I can’t say that I follow your reasoning, Mr. Spotswoode,” Markham confessed. “Mr. Vance had you beaten—and he quit.”
“Consider the situation,” Spotswoode replied, in a suave, even voice. “I most certainly would have opened so rich a pot, had I been able to, after Mr. Cleaver and you
